Holy Lunacy — BT Sanhedrin 42a — #22

R. Acha b. Chanina said in R. Assi’s name, who said in R. Yochanan’s name: Whoever pronounces the blessing over the new moon in its due time is as if welcoming the Shekhinah [the divine Presence], for one passage states, This month… (Exodus 12:2) and elsewhere it is said, This is my God, and I will glorify Him (Exodus 15:2). In the school of Rabbi Yishmael it was taught: Had Israel merited no more than to greet the presence of their Heavenly Father once a month, it would have sufficed. Abaye said: Therefore we must recite it standing. But Mareimar and Mar Zutra recited the blessing [over the new moon] from [atop] each other’s shoulders.

INTRODUCTION

We live most of our lives indoors. Much is lost by living so little outdoors and so minimally connected to the natural world. This is especially true of our religious lives: we pray, study, hold Passover seders, and virtually every holy day celebration indoors. The one notable exception is Sukkot because our obligation to dwell in the sukkah can be fulfilled only outdoors.

Our holidays are tied to the cycle of the moon, but on any given night, are you aware of the phases of the moon because you see it, or only because you know the date on the Hebrew calendar? Kiddush Levana (the blessing over the new moon) is customarily recited outside when both stars and the moon are visible in the night sky, anywhere from three days after the appearance of the new moon until the full moon, ideally at the conclusion of Shabbat.

COMMENTARY

R. Yochanan teaches that reciting Kiddush Levana, the sanctification of the new moon, has enormous spiritual potency: it is equivalent to welcoming the Shekhinah (God’s Presence) into our midst. Perhaps this has to do with the proximity of the moon—it is far closer to us than any other heavenly body—and we long to feel God’s Presence in our lives. Or perhaps it is because of the reassuring light the moon provides at night; we seek God’s light and security that come from proximity. Or perhaps it is the very cycle of the moon, which mirrors the cycles of our lives. As the moon waxes and wanes, so do our fortunes, both as individuals and as a people. As the moon always returns, so we hope that God’s redemption will come to us, as individuals, as a people, and for all the world.

Lie on your back and you look up high
At the lantern in the nighttime sky
It’s nice to know that she’s nearby
Our next-door neighbor, the moon.
Quarter moon, half moon, full moon bright
She’s always ready to lend you light
She’ll be here tomorrow night
Our next-door neighbor, the moon.
A billion years, a million million eyes
Have gone out in the night
To watch the same moon rise
Once in a while she’s lost from view
Perhaps she has some things to do
Then comes back just like new
Our next-door neighbor, moon.
Night upon night beaming down on me
Her soft, gray light so I can see
Our closet friend in the galaxy
Our next-door neighbor, the moon…

Tom Chapin, “Our Next-door Neighbor, the Moon” on the album In My Hometown

R. Yochanan offers us two verses to establish his claim that welcoming the moon is equivalent to welcoming the Shekhinah into our midst: This month (ha-chodesh ha-zeh) shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you (Exodus 12:2) establishes for R. Yochanan the obligation of Kiddush Levana, and the word “this” (zeh) connects it with God’s presence and redemption at the Sea of Reeds: This (zeh) is My God and I will glorify Him (Exodus 15:2). (Connecting the meaning of two verses through a common word is a common rabbinical hermeneutic called a gezeirah shava.)

R. Yishmael, perhaps hyperbolically, tells us that were this the only opportunity we had to experience God’s presence in their lives, it would suffice. If that is the case, Abaye tells us, we should stand to recite Kiddush Levana. Then why are Mameimar and Mar Zutra not standing? Most commentaries explain that Mareimar and Mar Zutra are old and frail. Unable to stand for Kiddush Levana, they lean on each other’s shoulders. But if they are both weak, would they not have leaned on someone strong? I think the Talmud is telling us not that they were old and unable to stand, but that they took turns climbing on one another’s shoulders in an effort to get closer to the moon. If welcoming the moon is like welcoming the Shekhinah, who wouldn’t want to get closer—and sing and dance in celebration—outside under the stars and moon?

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1.     A midrash in Chullin 60b  tells us that when God created the “greater light” (sun) and the “lesser light” (moon), the moon said, “Master of the universe, is it possible for two kings to share one crown?” God responded: “Go and diminish yourself!” The moon objected that she has been punished for asking a reasonable question. In recompense, God offers three consolations that are unworkable. In the end, God decrees that Israel should offer an atonement sacrifice of a he-goat on the moon—as God’s atonement for making the moon smaller. What message(s) do you hear in the midrash? How would you have responded to the moon?

2.     Here is the blessing (from Sanhedrin 42a) of Kiddush Lavana for you to say: “Blessed are you, Adonai our God, ruler of space and time, Who with God’s word created galaxies, and with the divine breath created all their hosts. God gave them law and time so they would not change course. They are joyous and glad to perform the will of their Owner; they are workers of truth whose work is truth. To the moon God said that it should renew itself each month, a crown of splendor for those born from the womb who are destined to renew themselves like the moon and to glorify their Maker for the name of God’s glorious kingdom. Blessed are You, Adonai, who renews the months.”

Friday Already! — BT Beitzah 16a — #21

It was taught in a baraita: They said about Shammai the Elder that every day he ate in honor of shabbat: If he found a good quality animal he would say: “This is for shabbat.” If he found an even better one, he would save the second one [for shabbat] and eat the first one. But Hillel the Elder employed a different strategy, whereby all his actions were for the sake of heaven, as it is said, Blessed is God day by day (Psalms 68:20). This was also taught in this baraita: Bet Shammai say: From the first day of the week [prepare for] your shabbat. But Bet Hillel say: Blessed is God day by day.

INTRODUCTION
How often does your week—filled with dozens of obligations and activities—whiz by, Friday arrives as if without warning, and you find yourself saying, “How did it get to be Friday already? How am I going to get ready for shabbat in time?” Winter in the northern hemisphere is especially challenging because the sun sets early where many of us live, depriving us of precious time to prepare for shabbat. Torah records the mitzvah of shabbat in each of the two versions of the Ten Commandments: (1) Remember (zachor) the sabbath day and sanctify it… (Exodus 20:7-9); and (2) Observe (shamor) the sabbath day to sanctify it… (Deuteronomy 5:12-13). The Rabbis wondered: Which way did God deliver the commandment at Mount Sinai? 

 The sabbath hymn, Lecha Dodi says in the first verse that “Shamor and zachor were spoken in one utterance.” 

The midrash Mekhilta, trying to reconcile the two versions, tells us: “‘Remember’ and ‘Observe’—remember before and observe afterwards… Remember it from the first day of the week, so that if you come upon a rare bit, ready it for the sabbath. R. Yitzhak says: Do not count [days] as others count, but count with respect to shabbat.”  R. Yitzhak wants us to live a shabbat-centric week. This helps us appreciate the difference between Shammai and Hillel that the Talmud spotlights.

COMMENTARY
Shammai and Hillel have different approaches to preparing for shabbat. Shammai spends the entire week looking for the best food he can secure for celebrating shabbat. When he finds something wonderful, he sets it aside. If he subsequently finds something superior, Shammai consumes the first item and saves the superior second item for shabbat. In this way, from Sunday onward he is thinking about shabbat and preparing for it. Shammai counts the days as R. Yitzhak advises in Mekhilta: “Six days until shabbat, five days until shabbat, four days until shabbat…”

Hillel has a different approach. If he comes across something special, he enjoys it that day; not all his efforts, from Sunday onward, are directed toward preparing for shabbat. Everything he does, day in and day out, Hillel does for the sake of heaven because every day is sacred and every moment an opportunity to serve God and express gratitude for one’s blessings. He seems to trust that he will find what is needed in time to celebrate Shabbat.

Being Jewish is not a competitive sport, but neither is it a spectator sport.

We are accustomed to thinking that in all debates between Hillel and Shammai, there must be a winner and a loser—and it’s probably Hillel who is “right.” Accordingly, the commentators trip over themselves to declare either Shammai or Hillel the “winner” of this round. There is an unfortunate current running through Jewish tradition, modeled as it is on the legal paradigm and employing the legal idiom, that most every situation there is a “right way” and a “wrong way.” Hence in every disagreement there is a “winner” and a “loser.” Being Jewish is not (and ought not be) a competitive sport. But neither is Judaism a spectator sport, as both Shammai and Hillel attest. They offer us different approaches to Jewish living. Each has merit. What distinguishes them is the personality and temperament of the person who adopts them as his own. There are many good and wonderful ways to live Jewishly, celebrate shabbat, and serve God. That is the beauty of this story.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Which approach—Shammai’s or Hillel’s—appeals to you more, and sounds closer to your way of doing things? Why?
2. We are creatures of habit—our story describes the habits of Shammai and Hillel. What are the Shabbat “habits” of your household? What would you like them to be? In another tractate of the Talmud (BT Shabbat 119a) the Sages tell us that two angels—one good, one bad—escort us home from shul on Friday evening. If the two angels find our homes prepared to celebrate shabbat—candles lit, delicious food simmering, the family assembled to celebrate together and enjoy one another’s company—the good angel says, “May it be so next week” and the bad angel must say,  “amen.” If, however, they find that our homes are not prepared for shabbat and no shabbat celebration is happening, the bad angel says, “May it be so next week” and the good angel must say, “amen.” The story reminds us that getting started is often the hardest part. Continuing a way of celebrating shabbat that we find meaningful and fulfilling is far easier than launching it in the first place.
3. What elements in your life can make shabbat festive for you? Shammai seems to have focused on food. Hillel doesn’t mention food. Here are some suggestions. Which appeal to you?

• Saving a new garment you acquired during the week to wear on shabbat
• Using a new tool or utensil to prepare for shabbat
• Reserving a new game to play on shabbat
• Setting aside a new book to begin reading  on shabbat
• Using a new recipe to prepare food for shabbat
• Setting the dinner table with a special tablecloth and dishes
• Planning a special family conversation to hold on shabbat

Asceticism — Baba Batra 60b — #20

It is taught that R. Yishmael b. Elisha said: Since the day of the destruction of the Temple, we should by rights bind ourselves to eat no meat and drink no wine. However, we may impose no hardship on the community unless the majority can endure it. And from the day that a foreign government has come into power that issues cruel decrees against us and forbids us to observe the Torah and its precepts, and does not allow us to enter into the brit milah [circumcision]—some say pidyon ha-ben [redemption of the firstborn son]—we ought by rights to bind ourselves not to marry nor to beget children. But the result would be that the seed of our father Abraham would of itself come to an end. Rather, let Israel go their way. It is better that they should err in ignorance than in presumptuousness.

INTRODUCTION
Religious people are sometimes drawn to asceticism. The word “asceticism” means “training” or “exercise.” In practice, it is most often abstinence from worldly pleasures in order to devote oneself entirely to religious/spiritual pursuits. Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam have long featured strains of asceticism and expressed admiration for those who withdraw from the world of material acquisition and sensual pleasure, devoting themselves to prayer, meditation, and study. Judaism, however, has consistently rejected asceticism as a religious practice, considering it a sign of ingratitude to God for the gifts and pleasures of life that God makes available to us. The Jerusalem Talmud (Kiddushin 4:12) goes so far as to say that after we die, when we appear before the throne of God in heaven for judgment, we will be compelled to account for every licit earthly pleasure we denied ourselves.

When one is in mourning, however, it is customary to avoid vanity and physical pleasure. During Shiva, some do this by abstaining from bathing and sexual relations. They sit on low stools. For many months they eschew parties and entertainment. In the aftermath of the Destruction of the Second Temple, the customs of mourning and the pull of asceticism became intertwined. In tractate Baba Batra we are told: “When the Second Temple was destroyed, large numbers in Israel became ascetics, binding themselves neither to eat meat nor to drink wine.” Talmud records a famous conversation that purportedly took place between these people and R. Yehoshua b. Chanina. The ascetics tell R. Yehoshua that it would be inappropriate to consume meat and wine since they were formerly brought as offerings to the Temple. He replies that if that is the case, they should also abstain from bread, fruit, and even water, all of which were integral to various sacrifices and rites. R. Yehoshua concludes, “My children, come and let me advise you. Not too mourn at all is impossible, because the decree that the Temple be destroyed has been executed. But to mourn too much is also impossible, because we may not impose a hardship on the community unless the majority can endure it.”

Do we serve God best by abstaining from the pleasures of life, or by taking pleasure in life?

COMMENTARY
Our passage is found on the same page of Talmud, following R. Yehoshua’s conversation with those who were practicing asceticism. R. Yishmael b. Elisha was a High Priest, amplifying the weight and impact of his teaching: If one who was the High Priest expresses the opinion that extreme mourning, in the form of asceticism, is wrong, what authority figure would promote it as appropriate? R. Yehoshua speaks about excessive mourning, but R. Yishmael goes further. He points out that given the cruelties imposed by Rome and the strictures the government had placed on the Jewish community, extreme mourning actually plays right into their hand, supporting their effort to eradicate Judaism. If the thinking of the ascetics is taken to its logical conclusion, the Roman prohibition against brit milah (circumcision) and pidyon ha-ben (redemption of the firstborn son) would suggest: if we can’t circumcise and redeem our children properly, then we shouldn’t marry and have children. That path leads to annihilation. R. Yishmael’s point is that this would be self-annihilation.

R. Yishmael doesn’t stop there. Exhorting Jews to continue living their lives, he says it is better to err inadvertently (if, indeed, there is any justification for asceticism) than to err out of presumptuousness. He adds this idea: Asceticism does not affirm life; it is an exercise in holier-than-thou. With this comment, R. Yishmael sets the standard for Jewish thinking thereafter: Asceticism is not righteous behavior; it is self-righteous behavior. A practice supposedly about mourning and humility turns out to be about religious hubris.

R. Yishmael implicitly says even more. The logic of asceticism has no end. In renouncing the world and its pleasures, one gives the Romans power over one’s thinking and values to the extent that, in the end, one renounces God’s priorities: marriage, children, community, joy, pleasure.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Have you ever been tempted by asceticism? If so, what value does it hold for you? If not, why not?
2. On the basis of R. Yehoshua’s teaching, the Sages ordained the following: “A man may plaster his house, but he should leave a small space uncovered [unfinished, in remembrance of the Destruction of the Temple]. A man who is preparing all that is needed for a feast should leave out some small ingredient. And if a woman is putting on all her jewelry, she must omit one piece.” Why do you think they promulgated this decree?  How does this satisfy the tendency toward visible mourning while keeping it in check?
3. The early Hasidim taught that our joy pleases God. R. Kalonymus Kalman Shapira (1920-1943), the Warsaw Ghetto rebbe, believed that the physical pleasures of an embodied existence can be marshaled to serve God; hence, he sought holiness in the pleasures of life. For example: alcohol can be a catalyst for avodat Adonai (worship of God) if one directs one’s experience “heavenward.” How might you incorporate this thinking into your own life?

Is Lying a Sin or a Mitzvah?—Yebamot 65b—#19

R. Ilai stated in the name of R. Eleazar b. R. Shimon: One is permitted to deviate from the truth for the sake of peace, as it is said, Your father left this instruction, etc., and, Thus shall you say to Joseph: “Forgive, I pray you, etc. (Genesis 50:15-17).

R. Natan says: It is a mitzvah [to deviate from the truth for the sake of peace], as it is said, But Samuel said, “How can I go? If Saul hears it, he will kill me”, etc. (I Samuel 16:2).

In the academy of R. Yishmael it was taught: Great is the cause of peace, for even the Holy One Blessed be God, deviated from the truth for the sake of peace, for initially it says, “My husband is old” and after that it is written, “old as I am” (Genesis 18:12-13).

INTRODUCTION
When Parson Weems published a biography of George Washington in 1809, he invented the myth of the cherry tree little George was supposedly lopped off with a hatchet. When confronted by his father, little George nobly replies, “I cannot tell a lie,” and admits his deed. Weems wanted to teach the importance of honesty. He couldn’t point to the Bible because telling the truth is not one of the Ten Commandments. Did you ever wonder why? Certainly trusting relationships are paramount to an individual’s mental health, a family’s well being, and a society’s healthy functioning—and it’s hard to imagine trust without honesty. Yet the Rabbis can. They can envision a situation—and you probably can, too—when telling the truth would be needlessly hurtful and therefore wrong.

COMMENTARY
R. Ilai tells us that to promote or preserve peace it is permitted to deviate from the truth. He provides an example in shorthand, quoting only tidbits of the relevant verses. Here is he full passage he has in mind (with the words R. Ilai quotes in boldface):
When Joseph’s brothers saw that their father was dead, they said “What if Joseph still bears a grudge against us and pays us back for all the wrong that we did him!” So they sent this message to Joseph, “Your father left this instruction before he died: Thus shall you say to Joseph, ‘Forgive, I urge you, the offense and guilt of your brothers who treated you so harshly’ Therefore, please forgive the offense of the servants of the God of your father.” And Joseph was in tears as they spoke to him. (Genesis 50:15-17)
After Jacob dies, Joseph’s brothers fear that he will seek revenge for their having sold him into slavery and all the misery that he suffered as a result, so they concoct a story—a bald-faced lie—that their dying father left but one request, namely, that Joseph should forgive them. The result of their lie is that the brothers are peacefully reconciled with Joseph.

The truth is rarely pure and never simple. (Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest)

R. Natan goes further. Not only is it permissible to lie for the sake of truth, but it is mandatory. He, too, provides an example: God sends the prophet Samuel to Bethlehem to anoint one of Jesse’s sons to succeed Saul as king of Israel. God designs a deception so no one will guess the true purpose of his mission, which would put both Samuel and the chosen son in danger. God tells Samuel to bring a heifer and say that he has come to offer a sacrifice to God. Hence, R. Natan reasons, God employs deception for the sake of peace. One could claim, however, that R. Natan’s example of God’s supposed lie is weak. It’s a partial truth: Samuel uses the heifer to imply that the sacrifice is his sole reason for coming to Bethlehem. R. Natan’s example does not quite prove that God ordains lying under some circumstances.

The academy of R. Yishmael closes this gap with a marvelous story.  In Genesis, Abraham is visited by three emissaries of God who tell him that 90-year-old Sarah will give birth to a child. Sarah, eavesdropping, laughs when she hears this and says, “Now that I am withered, am I to have enjoyment—with my husband so old?” God reports her words to 100-year-old Abraham as, “Shall I in truth bear a child, old as I am?” Sarah expresses incredulity based on Abraham’s age and condition, but God says Sarah laughed at the thought that she could bear a child at the age of 90. Here is an ironclad proof that God would lie to protect the peace between husband and wife.

“Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn’t.” (Mark Twain, Following the Equator: A Journey Around the World)

Gemara cannot promulgate a detailed rule concerning when it is permissible and desirable to lie. It can only establish the principle that peace is a greater good and when the two are in serious conflict, peace is to be given priority. The Rabbis trust that people of good will exercise careful judgment.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Have you ever shaded the truth or lied in order to avoid hurting someone’s feelings or causing a rift in a relationship, or in order to mend an acrimonious relationship? If you had it to do over again, would you say the same thing? Would you choose different words?
2. R. Natan seems to be suggesting that in cases that warrant concealing the truth, we aim for the least dishonesty possible, such as shading the truth, or omitting some point of information. Is this differing from lying? Is it preferable in your mind?
3. In another tractate of Talmud (Baba Metzia 23b-24a) Rav Yehuda teaches in the name of Shmuel that learned people conceal the truth in three matters, which are understood to be {1} for the sake of humility (to avoid bragging), {2} privacy (to avoid revealing intimate information about people), and {3} finances (to avoid burdening someone with houseguests, since hospitality is so highly prized, the host could not say not to requests). Can you think of other matters that warrant hedging the truth?

Maybe It’s Not About You — BT Berakhot 6b — #18

R. Zeira said: The reward for attending a [Torah] lecture is for running [to hear it]. Abaye said: The reward for attending a Kallah is for being squeezed [by the crowd]. Rava said: The reward for a halakhic discussion is for the intellectual reasoning. Rav Pappa said: The reward for visiting a house of mourning is the silence. Mar Zutra said: The reward for fasting is for the tzedakah. Rav Sheishet said: The reward for delivering a eulogy is the wailing. Rav Ashi said: The reward for [attending] a wedding is the words [one says to the bride and groom].

INTRODUCTION
Not long ago, I overheard a man explain that it had rained the previous day because he had taken a day off from work to go to a ball game. I would have thought that he was simply make a wry comment about the unfortunate timing of the rain, but he next said that the rain was his punishment for being absent from work when a deadline was looming and he was needed at the office. Again, I might have chalked this off as a sardonic remark, but he finished by noting that this was not the first time God had punished him for slacking off. It is very common for people to assume a causal relationship between two events based on their sequential timing, even despite all reason. We are hardwired to seek pleasure and avoid pain (in their many manifestations: physical, emotional, spiritual). The notion of reward and punishment is an interpretation of the cause or meaning of the pleasure and pain we experience that we layer on top; this, too, seems to be hardwired. Perhaps so many think this way because most people are inclined to reward or punish others in order to influence their behavior, and presume God does the same.

“If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed.” Albert Einstein   

Torah—especially the Book of Deuteronomy—tells us repeatedly that God is the divine purveyor of retributive justice: God rewards and punishes Israel in response to their obedience to, or violation of, the covenant. God brings or withholds rain, protects them from enemies or not, increases their herds and crop yields or not, and so on. The Rabbis held that God destroyed the Second Temple in 70 C.E. to punish the Jews for the sin of sinat chinam (gratuitous hatred) but then backed away from the stage of history. For the Rabbis, God, who was once intimately involved in the life of Israel, is distant, minimally involved, watching, waiting—God no longer jumps into the fray of world events to protect and redeem God’s people. If God is distant and detached, what does this say about the traditional belief in God’s reward and punishment?

“One response that is almost universally rejected by all thinking segments of the [Jewish] community is that the Holocaust is God’s punishment for Israel’s sin. If the Holocaust accomplished anything, it effectively killed the doctrine of retribution as the key to Jewish theodicies. It may have worked for centuries, but today it is viewed as an obscenity.” (Neil Gillman, Sacred Fragments, p. 202.

The doctrine of reward and punishment was challenged head-on in the aftermath of the Holocaust, but the roots of the challenge existed already in our Talmud.

COMMENTARY
Our passage provides a subtle and non-traditional way to think about the concept of divine reward in the new post-Temple reality.  Seven sages cite behaviors considered especially meritorious by the Rabbis: (1) attending the lecture of a prominent Torah scholar, (2) attending the twice yearly study convention that was held in Babylonia during this period in history, (3) participating in a halakhic discussion, (4) visiting someone in mourning, (5) fasting, (6) eulogizing the dead, and (7) attending a wedding. One would expect that simply engaging in these behaviors would bring reward, and the sages say it does, but not in the way you might expect: it comes in the form of an indirect or unintentional by-product of the act. When we examine the seven examples—the Rabbis provide an unusually generous number of examples—we find that the rewards are benefits that accrue to others. Running to hear a Torah lecture excites others about Torah study and inspires them to attend. Enlarging the crowd at the Kallah has a similar effect. The reasoning expended in a halakhic discussion elevates and enriches the experience for all present. Making a shiva call properly (i.e., quietly) creates a comfortable and comforting environment for mourners because they are not compelled to talk and are comforted by your presence. It is customary to give tzedakah on fast days and there are always people in need of tzedakah. A good eulogy allows the mourners to fully grieve. Words of either congratulations or entertainment directed to a bride and groom make their day more joyous and memorable.

Rather than asking, “How am I being rewarded?” ask yourself, “How does what I do reward and benefit others?”

 We often expect our behavior to result in a response that feels to us like a reward: if we do something good, we expect to be thanked or get credit. The Rabbis are teaching us that better than considering the reward we receive for our deeds (including our speech) is to consider how our words and deeds can reward others. This way of thinking can train us to think more broadly about our behavioral decisions and how we affect the world and those around us. It can help us feel satisfied and fulfilled when good things happen for others as a result of what we do, especially when we do not directly receive what feels like a “reward” such as recognition, praise, recompense, or honor.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. As you experience the world, do you believe God rewards and punishes people on the basis of their behavior? Consider Neil Gillman’s quote (above). Do you agree or disagree?
2. Can you recall examples from your life when your good deed benefited someone else? Are you able to consider that your reward?
3. Imagine a mitzvah you might perform and the “reward” it might beget for someone else.

Year-Beginning Giving — Shabbat 151b — #17

It has been taught [in a baraita]: R. Shimon b. Eleazar says: Do [tzedakah] while you can find someone [to receive it] and while you still have resources [to give] and while it is still in your power [to give]. And even Solomon, in his wisdom, said, So appreciate your vigor in the days of your youth, before the evil days come upon you—these [evil days are] the days of old age—and the years draw nigh when you will say, “I have no pleasure in them” (Ecclesiastes 12:1—these are the days of the messiah, when there is neither merit nor obligation.

INTRODUCTION
For the past few weeks, my email “in box” has been flooded with solicitations from a wide variety of charities, each hoping that the looming end of the secular year would inspire me and many others to claim another tax-deductible contribution. Have you had the same experience? Fundraisers know that one way to encourage those of us who are inclined to give to actually make a contribution is to create a sense of urgency by setting a deadline. One website, dedicated to “Compassionate Crowdfunding” advises: “When people receive requests of any kind, the natural reaction is to identify the deadline, and then wait until time is running out. With a fundraising deadline that conveys a sense of urgency, your [web]page will motivate more people to act quickly.” (Here’s another example.) The organizations who flooded my inbox from Thanksgiving to New Years were banking on December 31 being the deadline for those wishing to write off their contributions on their 2015 taxes. For the Talmud, the “deadline” is understood literally: death.

COMMENTARY
Talmud assumes we have righteous intentions coupled with human inclinations. Our righteous intentions play this continuous-loop tape in our heads: “Good people give tzedakah and I want to be a good person. It’s my obligation to give tzedakah and I should fulfill my obligation. I feel good about myself when I give tzedakah. I shouldn’t procrastinate in giving tzedakah because then I’m not as good as I want to be.” Most of us have a concurrent continuous-loop tape playing in our heads: “I might need this money. There are things I’d like to buy with this money. What if something happens so that I don’t have enough money?” 

What motivates people to donate to charities, volunteer at shelters and soup kitchens, and give money to homeless people on the street? Is it expectation of a reward or altruism?

R. Shimon b. Eleazar understands these conflicting messages swirling around in our minds. He also understands that every thought on both of those tapes begins with “I.” He offers us another tape to play in our heads that help us understand in a meaningful and existential way that tzedakah is not just about us. First, R. Shimon reminds us that giving tzedakah is primarily about the recipient’s needs. If we ignore one who is in need, that person will continue to suffer and another opportunity to alleviate suffering may not come our way for some time. Second, he reminds us that people’s fortunes wax and wane and the opportunity to alleviate someone’s suffering is guaranteed only now, in this moment. (R. Chiyya will remind his wife further down on this same daf of Talmud, “There is a wheel which revolves in this world.”) Third, R. Shimon reminds us that just as our financial resources might decline, so too our physical resources, in which case even if we have the money, we might not have the strength to dispense it to lesson someone’s suffering. Do it now, while you can!, R. Shimon advises, lest tomorrow you cannot for lack of finding someone in need, or the financial resources to help, or the strength to make real your good intentions.

A brain-imaging study headed by neuroscientist Jordan Grafman from the National Institutes of Health showed that the “pleasure centers” in the brain, i.e., the parts of the brain that are active when we experience pleasure (like dessert, money, and sex), are equally active when we observe someone giving money to charity as when we receive money ourselves! Giving to others even increases well-being above and beyond what we experience when we spend money on ourselves. (see Question #3 below)

Gemara support R. Shimon with a verse from Ecclesiastes, which tradition holds was composed by King Solomon. The verse opens the last chapter of the book, which is dedicated to reminding us to get our acts together religiously and morally because life is never as long as we think, and we waste too much time on superficial and frivolous pursuits. Vanity of vanities, says Kohelet; all is vanity (1:2 and 12:8)—and too late we realize we’re out of time. Gemara, unsurprisingly, identifies the “days of evil,” which the verse contrasts with the “days of our youth,” as old age. But perhaps unexpectedly, Gemara identifies the days in which we “have no pleasure” not as these same “days of evil”/old age, but rather as the days of the Messiah, when we will be unable to attain merit for good deeds because we will no longer be obligated to give tzedakah because no one will be in need. The deadline for goodness is now, while there is human suffering in the world. The Gemara is reminding us that giving tzedakah will bring us enormous joy, the joy of being young and vigorous.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. What inspires you to give tzedakah or engage in volunteer work?
2. What can you do to encourage yourself to give more and do more? (For example, if you keep a pile of $1 or $5 bills in easy reach while you drive, would it be easier to give them to people asking for handouts? Try it.)
3. Emma Seppala wrote an article that summarizes work done in the field of Positive Psychology concerning compassion and human behavior. Have you experienced the health and happiness benefits of compassion discovered by cognitive scientists in the field and described in her piece?

Carpe Diem — BT Ketubot 112a — #16

When R. Zeira was going up to the Land of Israel, he could not find a ferry to cross [a river]. He held onto a rope and crossed. [Seeing this,] a certain Sadducee/heretic said to him: “Impetuous people; you put your mouths before your ears, and you continue to behave impetuously. [R. Zeira] said to him: “A place that Moses and Aaron did not merit [to enter], who says that I will merit [to enter] it?

INTRODUCTION
Tractate Ketubot discusses traditions of marriage, in general, and the Ketubah (marriage contract), in particular. The Rabbis frequently liken the covenant between God and Israel to the covenant of marriage: Mount Sinai was the chupah and Torah is the ketubah. The marriage is fulfilled by living a life of Torah in the Land of Israel. Tractate Ketubot closes with a series of accounts about the extraordinary character of the Land of Israel and the Rabbis’ abiding love for the land. This material has an unmistakable messianic flavor. Our story about R. Zeira, impatient to across the Jordan River (the gateway to the Land of Israel for those coming from Babylonia) is among them.

R. Zeira comes from Babylonia. Our story is the capstone to an account, several folios earlier, of a difficult conversation R. Zeira had with his teacher, Rav Yehudah, concerning R. Zeira’s passion for the Land of Israel and desire to move there. Rav Yehudah did not approve because he considered aliyah to the Land of Israel tantamount to an attempt to hasten the messianic age, an act that forces God’s hand. Rav Yehudah believed that it was God’s will that Babylonian Jews remain in Exile and endure God’s punishment until God chose to lift the decree. R. Zeira replied that moving to the Land of Israel would violate God’s will only if the entire community were to move, en masse. Individuals who choose to live in the Land, however, are not in violation of God’s will. And with that, R. Zeira left Babylonia for the Land of Israel, which is how he came to be standing on the shore of the Jordan River, eager to cross over and enter the Land. The very notion of crossing the Jordan River evokes two powerful images: First, the Israelites’ crossing without Moses and Aaron (Joshua, ch. 3). Second, Elijah parting the Jordan and crossing through “on dry ground” (2 Kings 2:8), which in turn evokes the image of Israel’s redemption: Moses parts the Reed Sea and the Israelites cross through on dry ground (Exodus, ch. 14).

The Yerushalmi (Jerusalem Talmud) also recounts that R. Zeira was so eager to cross the Jordan River, the portal to the Land of Israel, that he crossed the river in his clothing. Challenged by the Sadducee, he retorted, “Why should I not be impatient to pursue a blessing that was denied to even Moses and Aaron?” (JT Shevuot 35c) 

 COMMENTARY
With no boat in sight, R. Zeira grasps hold of a rope strung across the river for the ferryman to use to propel his craft, and crosses the river on his own. The man who observes R. Zeira is someone who does not have a religious connection to the Land nor messianic dreams and expectations. His accusation that Israel is an impetuous people is based on Exodus 24:7, which records that when Moses delineated God’s commandments for the Israelites, the people responded: נַעֲשֶׂה וְנִשְׁמָע “We will do and we will listen/understand.” The heretic implies that from the beginning, Jews have rushed into action before taking the time to carefully consider what they are doing. Just as they responded to God with their mouths (“we will do”) before using their ears (“we will listen/understand”) so, too, R. Zeira rushes ahead to cross the river—a dangerous move—rather than wait for a boat to safely ferry him across. R. Zeira’s impatience is precisely what Rav Yehudah had warned against. R. Zeira responds to the man that he is privileged to go where even Moses and Aaron were not permitted to go—into the Land of Israel. Who wouldn’t jump at such an opportunity? Who wouldn’t be eager and impatient?

Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet. (Aristotle)

The story both acknowledges the danger of messianism—you could “drown”—and expresses compassionate understanding for the desire to participate in bringing that time closer. Throughout our history we have wrestled with the notion of messianic age: Is it close? Is it a goal or ideal more than a concrete expectation? Can people participate in bringing it about or do we wait passively for God to bring it about? Throughout our history we have seen that messianism is fraught with danger. Messianism played no small role in the disastrous Bar Kochba Revolt (135 C.E.) and in Sabbateanism. From the cult of David Koresh to the current horror of the apocalyptic vision of ISIS, messianism has proven its danger time and again.

“There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into the abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience.” Martin Luther King, Jr., “Letter from a Birmingham Jail”

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Do you think Rav Yehudah, living in the 3rd century C.E., was concerned with the possible danger of messianism (he lived after the Bar Kochba Revolt) or do you think he was convinced that Israel must endure its exile until God initiates change?
2. The Jewish idea of the messiah began with the hope for a king from the line of David who would unite the nation and restore Jewish sovereignty over the Land. Many Jews believe that God will send just such a “personal messiah” some day. Others believe that the description of the age that the messiah will inaugurate constitutes a vision of the ideal world we should strive for. Does either reflect your view?
3. When is it good to be patient, and when is it preferable to be impatient? Consider a wide array of issues such as: peace, poverty, hunger, homelessness, persecution, racism, climate change, refugees, interfaith relations, violence against women.

Searching for God — BT Berakhot 48a — #15

Abaye and Rava were seated before Rabbah [when they were young boys]. Rabbah said to them: To whom does one recite blessings? They said to him: To the Merciful One. [Rabbah asked them:] Where does the Merciful One reside? Rava pointed toward the ceiling. Abaye went outside and pointed toward heaven. Rabbah said to them: You will both become rabbis. It is as the folk saying: A pumpkin can be recognized from its blossoming.

INTRODUCTION
How often have you heard parents keeling about an incident that confirms in their mind that their young child is exceptionally bright? Our story concerns a similar moment, when Abaye and Rava are still young boys learning at the feet of their teacher, Rabbah, and he discerns in their answers to the question, “Where does God reside?” exceptional intellectual and spiritual promise.

The context for this story is a broader discussion of Birkat ha-Mazon, the blessings recited after a meal that includes bread. More immediately, the Rabbis are discussing how many people are required for the zimun (the formal invitation to join in Birkat ha-Mazon) under a variety of circumstances, one of which concerns a minor who is not yet obligated by the mitzvot and would therefore usually not be counted. R. Yochanan says that if the minor shows signs of maturity (i.e., entering puberty), that is sufficient. A baraita is brought that specifies precisely what signs of puberty are required to justify counting the minor as an adult for the purposes of zimun but then includes this seeming contradiction: “But one is not exacting with regard to a minor.” Our story comes to explain this enigmatic addendum in the baraita, which suggests that some minors are more adult than others and a judgment call is appropriate.

COMMENTARY
Abaye and Rava were distinguished sages and Torah superstars. Their numerous debates, known collectively as Havayot d’Abaye v’Rava, are famous. Abaye rose to be the master of the great academy at Pumbedita. Rava (whose real name was Abba b. Yosef bar Chama) left Pumbedita and founded another great academy in Mechoza.

On the surface, this brief story is deceptively simple. When asked where God abides, one boy points to the ceiling; the other goes outside and points skyward. How does this foretell greatness? The Talmudic commentator Maharsha (Rabbi Shmuel Eidels, 1555-1631, Poland) says that the boys did not even understand the question; they parroted what they had observed from parents and teachers, indicating that they could learn by repetition. This hardly seems to presage greatness. But perhaps that is not the point. Perhaps the Rabbis are using the story of the boys’ responses to illustrate two very different approaches to finding or knowing, and relating to, God.

When Rava points to the ceiling, he suggests that God is imminent, and we can experience God within the structure of the lives we live: home, school, relationships, customs and traditions, joys and pleasure, sorrow and losses. We come to know God through our experiences day in and day out. Abaye, in pointing to the sky, suggests that God, who is transcendent, can be found in the majesty and enormity of the universe, in contemplating mysteries that are beyond our understanding and that overwhelm our imagination. Rabbah does not declare one answer correct and the other wrong. Rather, he affirms both answers and thereby multiple paths to knowing and experiencing God. Each of us has a different temperament, and differing proclivities and sensibilities. As there are many conceptions of God, there are many routes to finding God and experiencing God’s presence in our lives.

If we could find God in small things, could we find God in all things? 

 QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Another way to understand the distinction between Abaye’s and Rav’s gestures: One way to know God is by understanding the universe through examination, measurement, and analysis. Maimonides, like Aristotle before him, believed that the more one knows about the universe, the more one knows God. An alternative way to know God is through the abstract: emotions, aesthetics, ideas, and ideals. Does one of these modes appeal more to you than the other?
2. Buddhists tell a precautionary tale about the formation of religious ritual: At the start of evening meditation in a certain monastery, a cat would begin howling. The spiritual teacher instructed his disciples to tie the cat to a pole so it wouldn’t be a distraction. Thereafter the cat was tied to the pole before prayer every evening. Many years later, the teacher died. The disciples continues to tie the cat to the pole each evening as they had always done. When the cat died, they found another cat and brought it to the monastery and continued the practice. Many years later, scholars wrote learned works on the significance of typing a cat to a pole as the prelude to meditation. Elizabeth Gilbert tells a version of this fable in Eat, Pray, Love, in which the cat’s death precipitates a religious crisis: How could they meditate without the cat tied to the pole? The ritual of the cat had become the essential and indispensable means to reaching God.  While the fable criticizes the calcification of ritual, it also affirms its power. Are there rituals that bring you closer to God? Do some create a barrier for you, making closeness more difficult to achieve?
3. The Kotzker Rebbe, when asked where God can be found, famously responded, “Wherever you let God in.” Where can you, or where do you, let God into your life? What would it take for you to let God in?

Elijah’s experience of God: The Lord passed by. There was a great and mighty wind, splitting mountains and shattering rocks by the power of God; but God was not in the wind. After the wind, an earthquake; but God was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake, fire; but God was not in the fire. After the fire, a soft murmuring voice. (I Kings 19:11-12)

Torah or Work? — BT Berakhot 35b — #14

Rabbah bar bar Chanah said that R. Yochanan reported in the name of R. Yehudah son of R. Ilai: See what a difference there is between the earlier and the later generations. The earlier generations made the study of the Torah their primary concern and their ordinary work subsidiary to it—and succeeded at both. The later generations made their ordinary work their primary concern and their study of the Torah subsidiary—and succeeded at neither.

INTRODUCTION
The Rabbis had much to say about the working world and the many jobs by which people earn a living. After all, they all worked; being a rabbi was not a profession then. Talmud tells us that Hillel was a woodchopper and his colleague, Shammai, was a builder. Rabban Yochanan b. Zakkai was a businessman, Rabbi Shmuel b. Shilas was teacher, Rabbi Meir was a scribe, R. Yose b. Chalafta was a tanner, R. Yehoshua b. Chananiah was a charcoal maker, Rabbi Dimi of Nehardea was a merchant, Rabbi Yannai owned and operated vineyards, R. Huna raised cattle, R. Chisda brewed beer, and Mar Shmuel was a doctor. No doubt their “real world” experiences were invaluable in influential in the numerous discussions of business practices and ethics that permeate the Talmud. In addition, they appreciated the difficulty of balancing work life with family life and the pursuit of Torah.

Rabban Gamaliel the son of Rabbi Yehudah ha-Nasi said: Great is study of the Torah when combined with a worldly occupation, for toil in them both puts sin out of mind. All study of the Torah which is not supplemented by work is destined to prove futile and lead to sin…(Pirkei Avot 2:2)

 COMMENTARY
The observation offered in the name of R. Yehudah b. Ilai touches on three distinct themes. The first is the challenge of setting priorities for one’s time and energy. For the Rabbis, the ideal life is one spent studying Torah, day in and day out. Like us, they were limited to a 24-hour day. Those who excelled in their studies would travel (sometimes great distances) to study in the great academies of Eretz Yisrael and Babylonia, remaining there for months or even years. And while accounts of their sojourns to study may be exaggerated, the challenge of supporting a family and devoting themselves to Torah was ever-present. When was the last time you bemoaned the limitation of merely 24 hours each day? R. Yehudah is keenly aware that time and energy are limited.

The second theme is a tendency seen in every generation to idealize and glorify those who came before. Even before Isaac Newton wrote in 1676 to Robert Hooke, “If I have seen further it is by standing on ye sholders [sic] of Giants,” the image that we are dwarfs and those who came before us are giants was well known, and has made numerous appearances in pop culture (e.g., Jurassic Park, The X-Files, R.E.M.’s “King of Birds”). In our time, we have come to speak of “The Greatest Generation” since Tom Brokaw popularized that phrase in his book about the generation that came of age during the Great Depression and fought in World War II. Here, in Berakhot 35b, the Rabbis named compare themselves with the generations that preceded them: they envision their predecessors as having devoted themselves first and foremost to Torah study, using whatever time remained to work. In contrast, their generation made income-generating work primary and relegated Torah study to a secondary priority.

Rabbi Nehorai said: I forsake all professions in the world and teach my son only Torah, for a person eats of the reward for learning Torah in this world and the principal remains for him in the next world. Other professions are not like this: If a person becomes sick or old or is in agony and cannot work at his occupation, he will die of starvation. The Torah, however, is not like this. It will protect him from evil when he is young and provides him with a future and hope when he is older. (Babylonian Talmud, Kiddushin 82a)

There is, not surprisingly, a theological layer to their understanding that constitutes the third theme: When one makes Torah the first priority, both Torah study and work prosper, but when one subordinates Torah to work, neither prospers. The suggestion here, and in further discussions on this daf (page) of Talmud is that God compensates those who prioritize Torah to enable them to devote the lion’s share of their time to study. Hence, organizing one’s life around Torah study is an act of devotion that God faithfully rewards. Elsewhere, Talmud makes this point unambiguously clear (see Kiddushin 82a in the box above).

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS 

1. Do you feel you have the desirable balance between Torah learning and other aspects of your life? Between work and family? Between work and leisure? What would it elevate the place of Torah learning in your life?
2. In what ways have you viewed prior generations as “more successful” or “greater” or “more admirable”? Have you ever had the experience of realizing that your impression concerning earlier generations was based upon incomplete information? If so, how did that affect your perspective and opinions?
3. How do you respond to the theological claim that those who devote themselves to Torah study will enjoy the protection of God? Is there another way to understand this claim? Is there, perhaps, a way in which Torah study enlarges and enriches our lives, and helps us to cope with the trials, tribulations, and traumas of life? (See Pirkei Avot 2:2 on page 1 above.)

Giving Thanks on Thanksgiving — Menachot 43b — #13

It was taught [in a baraita]: R. Meir used to say: A person is obligated to say one hundred blessings each day, as it is written, And now, Israel, what does Adonai your God require of your? (Deuteronomy 10:12) R. Chiyya the son of R. Avia endeavored to compensate on sabbaths and on festivals by using spices and eating delicacies.

INTRODUCTION
The prayer services we are familiar with—both the structure and the non-biblical content—are the handiwork of the Rabbis. The statutory prayer services (Shacharit and Minchah) replace sacrifices that were made morning and afternoon in the Temple in Jerusalem. The evening service was, early on, a matter of disagreement, but the opinion that it is compulsory prevailed, and thus there are three Jewish prayer services daily: Shacharit, Minchah, and Ma’ariv. There are, as well, many blessings crafted for various occasions, such as those for food, wine, and the performance of mitzvot (e.g., tallit, tefillin, lighting shabbat candles, lulav and etrog).

COMMENTARY
R. Meir tells us that God wants us to recite one hundred blessings each day. How does he arrive at this number? Deuteronomy 10:12 says, What (mah) does Adonai your God ask of you? R. Meir reads “mah” (“what”) as “me’ah” (“one hundred”)—the words sound similar—so that the verse now means “Adonai your God requires one hundred of you.” A very creative reading, but what is R. Meir’s purpose?
   
Let’s first ask how a person can recite 100 blessings each day. If you recite all the traditional prayers for Shacharit, Minchah, and Ma’ariv you will say approximately 90 blessings. To these, one can add the blessings recited before and after eating, but it’s still difficult to get to 100. On shabbat and holy days, the liturgy has fewer blessings and therefore supplies fewer opportunities to reach a total of 100. For those who do not recite all the traditional prayers each day, it’s trickier to arrive at 100 blessings.
   
As you can see, in order to recite 100 blessings a day, one would need to say at least several blessings that aren’t part of the liturgical “script.” Tradition supplies blessings to say when one sees a rainbow, or the ocean for the first time, or puts on a new garment for the first time, but not even these are always enough. Perhaps the reason R. Meir set the bar at 100 is that he understood that to recite 100 blessings each day, we have to recite blessings that come straight from our hearts and respond to what is happening in our lives at the moment. R. Chiyya highlights this by noting that special days require us to dig deeper within ourselves.
   
This teaches us two wonderful traits: mindfulness and creativity. Cultivating a religious soul is about developing a sense of awe: When we pay attention and notice the wonders of the world and of our lives, we can find God in both the ordinary and the extraordinary. Creativity comes in when we find words to express our wonder and sense of appreciation, or our joy and desire to share it, or our pain and search for strength, or our fear and need for support.
   
Here are a few blessings from our tradition that you might like to use:

• (For the wonders of nature) Blessed are You, God, whose presence fills creation and who makes beauty such as this in the world.
• (Upon hearing good news) Blessed are You, God, Who is goodness and Who is the source of good.
• (Traveler’s prayer) May it be your will, our God and God of our ancestors, to guide us, sustain us, and lead us in peace to our desired destination in health and joy and peace, and to bring us home in peace. Save us from every enemy and disaster on the way, and from all calamities that threaten our world. Bless the work of our hands. May we find grace, love, and compassion in Your sight and in the sight of all people. Praised are you, God, Who hears prayer.

Ultimately, all blessings are about gratitude: either for what we have or what we believe we may yet receive. Cicero said, “Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” Being thankful is powerful. Our ability to express gratitude is the most direct route to our happiness. The research of Dr. Martin Seligman (father of the school of “Positive Psychology” confirms that happiness is not related to what we have—it’s about our attitude toward what we have. Focusing on our blessings generates positive energy for facing the challenges and really tough stuff. Here are two blessings for tough times that you might wish to use at some point:

• (When experiencing physical and/or emotional pain) Blessed are you, God, who endowed me we more strength and patience than I often realize I have. Help me find these resources within me now and use them for healing.
• (When experiencing loss) Blessed are You, Source of life, for all that is and has been good in my life, even if I cannot retain the goodness forever. May I always recall the blessings I have experienced and may I be able to help others do the same when they experience loss.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Can you think of five things to be grateful for in your life today?
2. A Hasidic story tells of a young man who presented his teacher with the gift of water from a spring. The teacher tasted it, smiled, and thanked the student for the sweet-tasting water. His assistant, however, tasted it and spat it out. “Why did you say it was sweet when it’s bitter?” he asked. “Ah,” said the teacher, “you only tasted the water. I tasted the gift.” Do you taste the water or the gifts in life?
3. Rabbi Mitchell Chefitz wrote, “The Curse of Blessings” about a man who extends his life by reciting a new blessing every day. Try composing a new blessing every day for a month.

Singing in the Rain — Mishnah Ta’anit 1:1 — #12

When do we begin to mention the power of rain? R. Eliezer says: From the first day of the Festival [of Sukkot]. R. Yehoshua says: On the last day of the Festival. R. Yehoshua said to [R. Eliezer]: Inasmuch as rain on the Festival is a sign of a curse during the Festival, why mention it [before the last day]? R. Eliezer said to [R. Yehoshua]:  I did not say to request it but rather to make mention of “Who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall in its due season.” [R. Yehoshua] said to [R. Eliezer]: If that is so, one should always mention it…

INTRODUCTION
Unlike Egypt, where the Nile reliably overflows its banks each year, insuring fertile fields for planting, a robust harvest in the Land of Israel depends entirely upon rain and dew. In Eretz Yisrael, rain or lack thereof determines whether crops grow and accordingly whether people and animals thrive, or whether drought occurs and famine ensues. 

The Amidah, sometimes called Ha-Tefilah (“The Prayer”) or Shemoneh-Esrei (“The Eighteen Benedictions”), constitutes the central prayer of the service. There are two seasonal additions to the Amidah that concern rainfall. First, in Gevurot, the second blessing, whose theme is resurrection, the words “Who causes the winds to blow and the rain to fall” are added from the last day of Sukkot until the first day of Pesach. Second, in the ninth blessing, birkat ha-shanim (“Who blesses the years”), a petition for rain is added: ten tal u-matar (“provide dew and rain”) from early December through Pesach. Both insertions are added during the rainy season in Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel).

COMMENTARY
The question under consideration concerns when we should add mention of the power of rain, which means God’s power to bring (or withhold) rain. Both R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua agree that it should begin during the festival of Sukkot, but they differ concerning whether “Who cause the winds to blow and the rain to fall” should be added from the first day onward, or beginning only on the final day of the festival.

What’s at stake? Several things. R. Yehoshua, who says we add the prayer for rain on the last day of the festival, points out that if rain were to fall during Sukkot, it would ruin the festival for everyone. One cannot fulfill the mitzvah of living in the sukkah—eating, sleeping, studying, playing, and socializing—while it rains. Therefore, if it rain falls during Sukkot, R. Yehoshua reasons, it means God is displeased with us (“a sign of a curse”). Why invite something you don’t want?

R. Eliezer, who suggests initiating the prayers on the first day of the festival, doesn’t disagree. Rather, he says that the first addition that R. Yehoshua interprets as a request for rain is rather a theological statement that God holds the power over rain. R. Eliezer holds that the second addition to the ninth blessing (“provide dew and rain”) is the actual petition for prayer.

R. Yehoshua points out R. Eliezer’s inconsistency: If “Who cause the winds to blow…” is merely a theological statement and not a request, it should always be included in the Amidah, yet R. Eliezer agreed that it should be added to the prayers seasonally—corresponding to the rainy season—suggesting that, in reality, it is a request. That being the case, it makes much more sense to add it at the end of Sukkot, the time we genuinely wish for rain to fall.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS 

1. R. Yehoshua says that if rain falls during Sukkot, it is an unpropitious sign. Rashi is troubled by the terminology, “sign of a curse.” He understands it to mean a divine rebuke. Perhaps he has in mind mishnah Sukkot 2:9, which says that rain during Sukkot is a rebuke from God. In Sukkah 28b, Gemara provides an allegory: “To what may the matter be compared? To a servant who pours a cup for his master, and then the master pours a pitcher in his face.” How do you understand the events of nature? Do you believe that God is pulling the strings? If not, how do you conceive God and God’s relationship with the physical universe?
2. Rain is a life-and-death matter, and whoever controls the rain determines whether people live or die. Perhaps this explains why a prayer for rain is added to the blessing concerning resurrection. But rain does not bring things back to life — it restores plants to the appearance of life after they have appeared dead to our eyes, but were never truly dead. Could this help us understand resurrection as a metaphor for people whose lives seemed or felt to be over—people who descended in despair and hopelessness, or serious life-threatening illness—yet recovered? Mention of resurrection has been removed from some Jewish prayer books because its literal meaning is incompatible with many people’s beliefs. If we view liturgy as poetry, and remind ourselves that poetry speaks in metaphors, might we “resurrect” the blessing concerning resurrection?
3. Gemara quotes a baraita (Mishnaic era teaching that is not found in the Mishnah itself) in which R. Eliezer says that one may say, “Who causes the wind to blow…” throughout the year because it is understood that one prays only for rainfall in the appropriate season. This raises several questions: How specific do communal prayers need to be? Phrased another way: How much lee-way is there for the individual to interpret the words for him or herself? And even more: Could we ever have a set of communally recited prayers lacking “wiggle room” for people to bring their own understandings, interpretations, beliefs, and hopes to the process of prayer?

Demons in the Study House — BT Kiddushin 29b — #11

Abaye heard that [Rav Acha bar Yaakov] was coming [to study in his study house]. There was a certain demon in the Abaye’s study house and when two people arrived together—even in the daytime—they were tormented [by the demon]. [Abaye] said to [his students]: Do not invite [Rav Acha] to be a guest [in your home]. Perhaps a miracle will occur. [Rav Acha] went and slept in the study house. A seven-headed dragon-serpent appeared to him. With every bow he made [in prayer], one of its heads fell off. The following day [Rav Acha] said to [Abaye]: Had not a miracle occurred, you would have endangered me!

INTRODUCTION
Our bizarre story is preceded by a baraita (Mishnaic era teaching) that tells us that if a man has insufficient financial resources to educate both himself and his son, he takes precedent over the son. R. Yehudah, however, expresses the opinion that if the son is quicker and more intelligent, the son’s education should take priority. Gemara cites, as an example, Rav Acha bar Yaakov, who sent his son, R. Yaakov, to study in Abaye’s house of study but upon learning that his son did not excel in his studies, Rav Acha told him to stay home and went in his stead to study with Abaye.

COMMENTARY
For those still in the Halloween spirit, you’ll enjoy knowing that Abaye’s study house is haunted by a demon. Babylonian culture was rife with demons and spirits, and the Babylonian Talmud reflects the belief that largely invisible demons and spirits present a ubiquitous and continual threat to decent people: they inhabit the air, water, trees, roofs, and even privies. One is most vulnerable to malicious demons at nighttime and when alone. This is precisely Rav Acha’s situation in Abaye’s study house. The demon who haunts Abaye’s study house is particularly virulent: he threatens the students even when accompanied by a friend, and even in daytime.

Abaye instructs his students not to offer Rav Acha home hospitality, although tradition and courtesy require that they should. Abaye knows that without lodging for the night, Rav Acha will stay in the study house, where he will root out the demon by virtue of his famous and outstanding piety. As predicted, Rav Acha spends the night alone in the study house where he is confronted by a seven-headed dragon-serpent. Rav Acha’s piety to the rescue! He spends the night in prayer; each time he falls to his knees, one of the seven heads falls off. His genuflections are spiritual fencing lunges against the demon and his words are decapitating swords. Rav Acha vanquishes the demon—just as Abaye hoped. Recognizing a setup, Rav Acha is understandably annoyed with Abaye for knowingly placing him in a dangerous situation. He attributes his success to a miracle, that is, to God’s intervention.

Ancient cultures are not alone in their fascination with malicious spirits, be they demons, dybbuks, or dragons. Carl Jung wrote about the Shadow archetype of the unconscious mind, a mosaic of basic animal instincts and repressed ideas and desires that includes the best and the worst within us. He suggested that the Shadow appears in dreams and visions (primarily nighttime phenomena), often taking the form of a demon, dragon, snake, or some dark and frightening figure, a projection of what we suppress or dislike in our animal nature. We cannot eject evil from our psyches and our lives, so we project it outward onto imagined external monsters. If we view the story of Rav Acha through a Jungian lens, a fascinating image appears.

On one level, when Rav Acha finds himself alone in the dark, his human compulsions and inclinations arise and manifest in the form of a seven-headed dragon-serpent, threatening to destroy his intention to study Torah. He disempowers (kills) his Shadow dragon, his dark animal instincts, by immersing himself in prayer. But what about Abaye? There is something inherently contradictory here. Abaye wants Rav Acha to rid the study house of the demon that haunts Abaye and his students—by teaching them to repress their animal instincts through prayer?—yet in telling his students to deny hospitality to Rav Acha, Abaye gives in to the demon by failing to do what is right (extend home hospitality) and by placing him in a dangerous situation.

QUESTIONS TO CONSIDER AND DISCUSS

1. Jung wrote about the connection between the Shadow and artistic creativity: at times an artist can see “…the figures that people the night-world—spirits, demons, and gods; he feels the secret quickening of human fate by a superhuman design…he catches a glimpse of the psychic world that terrifies the primitive and is at the same time his greatest hope.”(1) If the demon is a projection of what Abaye and his students dislike about themselves, how might they—and we—come to terms with our “demons” and put them to constructive, and even artistic, use?
2. Concerning the connection Jung makes between evil and artistic creativity, Rollo May writes: “…evil can’t be put out of human life, as Jung noted that one could not erase the Shadow. And if one tries to put it out, then the rage is put out with it and the capacities to create are thrown aside with the so-called evil.”(2) May then quotes Mephistopheles in Goethe’s Faust: “I am that which always does evil which turns into good” (Part I, Lines 1335-37). We might be inclined to quote a story from the Talmud which tells of a time that the people were able to immobilize the Evil Inclination and, as a result, all generativity came to a grinding halt, threatening the future of life on earth (BT Yoma 69b). Do you think Rav Acha’s decapitating the dragon is meant to connote “erasing” the demon, or seizing control of him and using his powers for creativity and good (note what he says to Abaye)?

 (1)  Jung quoted by Christian Gaillard in “The Arts” in The Handbook of Jungian Psychology, ed. Renos K. Papadopoulos, p.360.
(2)  “Creativity and Evil,” in Facing Evil: Confronting the Dreadful Power Behind Genocide, Terrorism, and Cruelty, ed. Paul Woodruff and Harry A. Wilmer, pp. 73-4.